


Like Real People Do

by SilverSkiesAtMidnight



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF John Watson, Brief Mentions of Blood, But He Gets Better, Grief/Mourning but only temporarily I PROMISE its really not that angsty, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Magical Realism, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Sherlock Holmes Dies, Temporary Character Death, Tenderness, just a whole lot of love, resurrection AU, seasons 3 and 4 do not exist in this household, some brief mentions of unavoidable fallout from trauma, this is a weird fic but I promise it's not actually sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22195546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSkiesAtMidnight/pseuds/SilverSkiesAtMidnight
Summary: You do not spend as much time as John Watson has spent in the company of death without learning two things: there are tricks to this, but there are alsoRules.The first trick is this: you swallow your grief. Death cares not at all if you grieve, and therefore it does you no good, not now. There will be time to cough it up again later. For now, it is only a distraction, and you cannot afford to be distracted.The firstRuleis this: you do not wash the blood off your hands. It’s okay if it flakes off, that’s inevitable. It’s not the blood that counts, it’s the washing. If you wash them, you begin to let go, just the tiniest bit, and you cannot afford to lose your grip.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 29
Kudos: 141





	Like Real People Do

You do not spend as much time as John Watson has spent in the company of death without learning two things: there are tricks to this, but there are also _Rules_. 

The first trick is this: you swallow your grief. Death cares not at all if you grieve, and therefore it does you no good, not now. There will be time to cough it up again later. For now, it is only a distraction, and you cannot afford to be distracted. 

The first _Rule_ is this: you do not wash the blood off your hands. It’s okay if it flakes off, that’s inevitable. It’s not the blood that counts, it’s the washing. If you wash them, you begin to let go, just the tiniest bit, and you cannot afford to lose your grip. For now, you must cling, nevermind the pain. There will be time to feel it later, and by then it will not matter. 

The next trick is this: do not sleep before the funeral. The line between the parts of you right now is hazy, and dreaming will only blur them more. You may not wake up the same person, and the new version of you may not be the person you need in order to do what must be done. 

The next Rule is this: there _must_ be a funeral. 

Sherlock’s is fancier than it needs to be. John has seen people make do with little more than a hole scraped in the sand, a pretty stone or a bouquet of weeds to sit on top as a marker. But Sherlock has a proper headstone, flowers that must have cost hundreds of dollars resting on top. This is good, John decides. Unnecessary, maybe, but nothing less than what he deserves, even if he also deserves a crowd of mourners to fill Trafalgar Square and all he receives is five. 

But this will do. It would have worked even if it had only been John, so long as someone was there to pay their respects. Because, and this is something else John has learned: it is not important whether anyone pays their respect to Sherlock. It matters only that they pay their respect to what Death has done. 

When the grave is filled, little is said. Mrs. Hudson gives him a tremulous hug, eyes glistening and lips pressed firmly together to hold in her sobs. Lestrade puts a hand on his shoulder, standing beside him only a little awkwardly. There are too many lines around his eyes when he turns to go. 

Molly is the only one who actually says anything to him. She gives him a tight hug, firmer than Mrs. Hudson’s, as though _he’s_ the one falling apart. 

“He was a good man, no matter what anybody thought,” she whispers in his ear, fierce conviction in her voice. “And he cared about you so very much, in his own way. Don’t you ever doubt that.” 

For a long second, his throat and chest feel so tight he can barely breathe. He remembers his first trick, and swallows. 

He gives her a forced smile as she pulls away, straightening a nonexistent wrinkle in her black dress. She opens her mouth as though to say something more, and then closes it again, shooting him an equally hollow smile before turning without another word. He doesn’t have it in him to call her back and ask what it is she wanted to say. 

Mycroft doesn’t come near him, for which he is grateful. He doesn’t give him the familiar tight, sympathetic smile he is so used to seeing on people uncomfortable with someone else’s loss either, for which he is incredibly grateful. Mycroft simply nods from where he stands, a fair distance away. He looks far too composed for someone who has just watched their little brother buried, and John wonders if that is merely who Mycroft is, and what their relationship was, or whether he knows what John is going to do. He’s a smart man, after all, and knowledgeable. Quite possibly he, too, has seen enough of death to know the tricks, and to know the Rules. 

Perhaps that is why, despite this being such a grand and certainly expensive graveyard, there seems to be no guard about when John must fulfill Rule three: you must sleep upon the grave that first night, before the soil has settled. But, and this is important, you must not let yourself sleep through till dawn. There is still work to be done when you awaken, and if you let this night slip through your fingers, the distance will be too great, and you will not get a second chance. Not without something going very wrong. 

Trick three is to wear a warm jacket, and place a stone beneath your back. The cold will do its best to keep you awake, if it can, and sleep will do its best to keep you if you get too comfortable.

It’s a tough balance to strike, but here, if you’ve been careful and stayed awake this long, the exhaustion will work in your favor, and the stone will keep it from working too well. And John is so very careful when it comes to this. 

He dozes, and it is enough. 

Rule four is this: in the dream, be polite, but be firm. Death deserves and demands your respect, but They will not appreciate groveling or terror. They admire your courage, but more than that, They admire the love that drives it. Whether this is because They know it themselves, or because They wish They could, no one knows, and They are unlikely to ever tell. Leave this in-between place as soon as you have gotten what you ask for, don’t ever linger, and trust your stone to wake you. 

Trick four is this: be sure to wear tough gloves. The shovel will blister your hands. 

Rule five is where most fail: you must return home empty-handed before the sun rises. It will be painful, it will feel wrong, it will feel like a betrayal, it will tear at the part of your soul which yearns for that which it has lost, and yet. You _must_. You must resist the temptation to wait at the graveside, the urge to glance back into the darkness and make sure you’re not alone, or else you will be. This is the other half of the deal: you have proven your love by coming here tonight, but it is worthless if they do not choose to return to you of their own free will. Love is binding only when it flows both ways. 

Trick five is to unlock your door when you get inside, and keep the light in the window on. It will help to lead them home through the darkness. 

Rule six is the last place you can change your mind, though few who make it this far ever do: When they knock, let them in. 

John doesn’t hesitate. His hands are steady as a rock as he reaches for the handle. The door to 221B swings open, and lets the light spill out. 

Trick seven is to be patient. After all of this, things will not snap back to the way they were, and if you thought they would you were not ready to do this at all. You should have held your grief on your tongue until it dissolved, because now, if you were not ready, it will rise up as bitter bile to punish you for your foolishness and greed. 

The person who’s returned to you will not be the same, and if you truly loved them then you must be willing to love them for what they are now. They will still be brilliant. They will still drive you mad and make your heart ache with love at the same time, and grab your hand to pull you after them without even thinking about it, and hold up the entire police department’s investigation because they noticed you forgot to eat breakfast that morning and the police can simply wait until this has been corrected, and they will sleep beside you in the mornings and you will wake up early and just watch their face because they’re so beautiful and you cannot believe the universe would be so kind as to let you have this. 

But they will also be lost and wounded, even if they do their best to hide it, and you will not be able to avoid brushing against their shattered edges. Sometimes they will wake up beside you screaming, dreams of falling and rising again and graveyard soil under their hands as they claw their way up filling their heads, and sometimes you will do the same and you will look at your hands and swear to god that they are still bloody. 

And in these nights, you must remember the seventh and final rule, which John learns is truly the easiest of the lot: you must love them. You must hold them in your heart, and remember what you did for them and why, and you must let it spill off your tongue and show in your eyes and stain your ungentle hands and never, ever swallow it down where one of you might forget it for even a second. And always be grateful for that which Death has given back to you, or perhaps that which They have agreed to share for a little while longer, until the two of you are both ready to return, this time hand-in-hand. 

The final trick that John Watson learns is one which he doubts will be applicable to anyone else, but it’s a good one for him to know anyway: no one will really be that shocked if you tell them Sherlock Holmes faked his own death. Just say it with confidence, and do your best to look at least a little irritated with him when you do. Remember there were once again eyeballs in your refrigerator that morning if it helps. 

When it doesn’t, just try not to smile _too_ widely. They’ll still be there when you get home, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I AM still writing Sherlock fanfic in the year of our lord 2020, bite me. 
> 
> This was...an odd concept, I know, and I so very much appreciate anyone who stuck with it long enough to be reading this note. I feel like it kind of came out more freeform poetry than actual story?? Idk, but I hope you liked it!! I'd love any feedback you have to give, comments and kudos make my whole entire day :D
> 
> Feel free to come bug me on [tumblr](https://sunflowersandink.tumblr.com/)!! It only looks inactive because not enough people interact with me on there lmao


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